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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137743">Three Two One, Fall in My Arms Now</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semp1ternal/pseuds/Semp1ternal'>Semp1ternal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Will Graham, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, He doesn't care tho, M/M, Smut in chapter 2 bros, Sorry for bottom will again i have no fucking clue how to write bottom hannibal, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Finds Out, fluff and shenanigans, kinda a songfic, they hate each other's music tastes but love each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,898</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semp1ternal/pseuds/Semp1ternal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal have opposing music tastes. Hannibal loves classical compositions and opera, while Will enjoys down and dirty rock and roll. Neither can stand the other’s music taste and they deliberately try to bother each other by blasting their music. Fluff and shenanigans ensue.</p><p>Starts a little dark but winds up light hearted and a little bit OOC.</p><p>Work title is from Check Yes Juliet by We The Kings!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Three Two One, Fall in My Arms Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>my very first chaptered hannigram fic! this one has been a bit of a challenge to write but i'd like to thank my beta @nise_kazura for their assistance! here's a link to their profile https://archiveofourown.org/users/nise_kazura/pseuds/nise_kazura</p><p>also i know jack shit about opera and i don't eat meat so i don't know many fancy meat dishes, so, sorry about my lack of description on those things haha</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Next week, same time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I will see you then, Franklyn.” Hannibal nodded curtly, his silvery strands of hair swaying as he did so. They stood out in beautiful contrast to his deep indigo suit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I look forward to it. Goodbye, Doctor Lecter.” The raggedy bearded man said in a tone that was just a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the friendly side. Hannibal bit back a cringe that wanted nothing more than to play on his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Franklyn stepped out of the room and Hannibal bid him a polite goodbye, shutting the white rimmed door with a little thud. It took all of his energy to retain his professional composure with that man, he really was quite irritating. Years of concealing his emotions for sure paid off, as he buried the brewing sensation of frustration beneath a straight face and his eerily piercing eyes. Everything was completely under his control. Including how he felt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Franklyn insisted on treating Hannibal as a friend rather than a professional, and it made their sessions all the more uncomfortable and seemingly pointless. Hannibal could detect the man’s growing obsession towards him in the very way he spoke and glanced at him. He knew sooner or later their weekly appointments would cease. He’d much rather the former. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Franklyn wasn’t going to take it well, but his opinion amounted to very little in the mind of Hannibal Lecter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though, his grievances with his clingy patient were more than just a little hypocritical, given how Hannibal felt about and treated Will Graham. It was the other way around with him. Hannibal was the one who had a festering obsession. Will intrigued him like no other patient did, and Hannibal often found himself studying the firm line of his stubbly jaw and carefully watching his shy blue eyes that always dodged his razor sharp gaze. The curly haired man’s appointments always shone like a beacon compared to the meager glow of all the doctor’s other obligations. He found himself enraptured in Will’s smooth voice and the stories he told.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to sever those ties within his brain soon, otherwise his growing bias for Will would begin to meddle with the orderliness of their appointments. It was necessary to Hannibal that everything be within his range of control, otherwise it brought a strange and sickly feeling like a hangover into his gut that he abhorred.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was hung over on the drunkenness that came with seeing Will Graham and being near him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal decided that it would be wise to distract himself with a little bit of music instead of dwelling on his subtly weakening grasp on the control he craved. Nothing alleviated stress quite like it did. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>With the exception of Will, of course.</span>
  </em>
  <span>) The grey haired man gracefully strode to the corner of the room towards his beloved record player, gently lifting the still black disc out from underneath the broad copper needle. He carried it over to his collection of various records lined up in the midsection of a bookshelf. They came from a range of wildly diverse artists smattered about the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were all thematically classical, divine, and sophisticated. Each record held a world of knotty wonder within it. The large discs were all decorated differently with flowers and old style paintings and kept in perfect condition by a gentle, yet firm hand. Hannibal adored the devotion to the craft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silvery haired psychiatrist slipped the record in his hand back into a plastic sleeve gingerly and sealed it in order to keep it in impeccable condition. He gazed down at his vast collection before selecting another, which had a shimmering golden circle in the center that resembled a crystalline sun and a tiny meadow of purple flowers blooming from mint green stems beneath it. Hannibal carried it so carefully it was as if it were a human baby and set the disc down onto the center of the record player, then lowered the needle with a steady hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal wilted into the vast comfort of his chair with a small, satisfied sigh as he propped his chin up on his pale knuckles. He found himself looking forward to his session with Will, which was due in a few hours. It wasn’t anything too far out of the ordinary, but perhaps a little inappropriate as their relationship was entirely professional. Keeping it that way was proving to be more difficult than the doctor had expected, as pulling back the curtains surrounding an already fascinating man revealed many more addictive details.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was an entire world inside his head, an epicenter of warped imagination. Will carried torrential, raging seas and silent forests all within his cranium. There were beasts and prey, hunter and hunted, and all of it went on endlessly. Will was chased in circles by his own mind as he entered the much darker minds of others. And most importantly, it was all soaked in corrosive empathy, a gift that could be tender or deeply suffocating and destructive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed that infectious darkness within the minds of those who he pursued was beginning to bleed into Will’s own, diluting his crystal clear ponds and lakes with black dye. Though, Hannibal would have to wait patiently to plunge headfirst into that hot, swirling blackness once again, as it was only four ‘o clock, and Will would arrive at seven.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The argent haired doctor managed to entertain himself for the seemingly endless period of time in between his two appointments with the multitude of mundane tasks his grandiose way of living provided. He scrubbed the kitchen counters, moved some fresh meat stored in his fridge down to the freezers in his strangely dungeon-esque basement and then settled down in the wooden chair in front of his desk. With steady hands he gripped the corner of his vest and shed it off his broad shoulders, folding it and placing it in his lap as he drew a pencil and a scalpel from his artisan pencil holders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered how Will had laughed at that. The idea of expensively decorated and delicate pencil cups was entirely pretentious to the other man. Their tastes were so vastly different and yet they still had so much in common to converse about. Hannibal grinned a little as the memory of the pleasant sound of Will’s laugh graced him and he began to flick the lead of the pencil against the page. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lines curved and wavered, and eventually began to congregate and undergo metamorphosis into a midnight colored stag. The creature stood tall and proud with an absent look in its cavernous grey eyes. Feathers peeked out from beneath thicker patches of radiant fur and antlers spread out like vast, pointed tree branches. Two broad hooves were planted firmly upon a few tiny lines that would soon become a colorless meadow sprinkled with dead flowers hunched over their cracked and shriveled stems.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The orange rays of light from the Baltimore sun eventually began to subside as it slowly sank below the horizon, like a topaz sinking in darkening waters. With every inch that it fell another layer of daylight was peeled away and Hannibal knew that Will drew closer. He could picture his sunset-kissed face as he concentrated with a furrowed brow and two veiny hands on the steering wheel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another hour went by, and the timing of Hannibal’s final pencil stroke could not have been more perfect. Because right as he finished, he recognized the familiar sound of Will’s tires rolling up the gravelly road and grinding to a halt. His hearing was not as keen as his sense of smell, but he was blessed as it had not declined much with his age. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal grabbed his deep blue vest and slotted his arms back into it, adjusting it and slicking his uncooperative hair back before he stood up and tightened his deep grey tie. The sky was painted pitch black outside, and a few tiny stars shone amongst the blinding city lights that kept them obscured and silenced. A tiny tint the color of ice could be seen in rings around the persevering stars that asserted their presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he strode closer to the front door his pupils fixated on what he could see through the elegantly decorated burgundy window frame, which was Will sitting in his dimly lit car. He leaned back against his seat and stared down the road. He wore his usual attire, a pale green long sleeved shirt with a deep brown sleeveless vest on top. It was unbuttoned just a smidgeon below his collarbone and it gave a lovely view of his Adam's apple and the ridges of bone that begged to be claimed with a love bite. His exquisitely chocolate colored hair was wild and tousled as per usual and a pair of black glasses were perched on his nose. That lovely, unruly stubble lined his jaw as always, and Hannibal noticed that he was mouthing something, his lips closing around words swiftly. Will’s car radio was blaring, and Hannibal realized that the curly haired man was lip syncing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his mind betrayed him in that moment, because the only word that it could formulate to describe what he was doing was </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Simple and clear cut, cute. No flowery language involved. That wasn’t something that had tumbled from his lips for at least twenty years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squinted and stepped closer, then an unfamiliar sound graced his ears.</span>
  <em>
    <span> What </span>
  </em>
  <span>Will was listening to, however, brought a stab of disappointment to contrast with the fluttery feeling of seeing him so focused and unaware of Hannibal’s inquisitive gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will was a Rock ‘n Roller.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal twisted the bronze doorknob and stepped out onto his small porch, unbeknownst to Will, who was still nodding his head to the beat as the intense music blared from his car. The song was filled with screeching guitars and a fast paced drum beat. Cymbals crashed and the bass was strong and purring throughout the whole song. Cheesy lyrics about living a free life and running away with someone were shouted by an obnoxiously high pitched singer. Hannibal could easily tell that Will hadn’t grown out of his teenage music taste, as this noise would’ve had to imprint on him at a young age to mean anything to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t understand why anyone would prefer such a tune over the splendor of an opera. And of all the people in the world who would be into that genre, he would’ve thought that it would’ve been Freddie Lounds. Obnoxious music would fit her boundaryless behavior. Even Jack or Beverly, maybe even fucking Bedelia being a rocker would’ve been less disconcerting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal could imagine Will doing the rock ‘n roll salute and headbanging and he had to suppress the bile crawling up his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taste would be taste, he supposed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the sting of displeasure remained among his rational thoughts. He had allowed himself to become infatuated with this man, and it turned out that he was into what Hannibal would frankly consider utter garbage. It may have been a more crushing reveal than when Will would inevitably discover Hannibal’s cannibalistic tendencies. The doctor’s heart fluttered in his chest and he sighed deeply, attempting to conceal it with his sleeve. He swallowed his chagrin and instead gazed upon Will with big, dark eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will noticed Hannibal standing outside the door and met his eyes, the dreadful music stopping as he twisted his car key and pulled it out. He plucked off his glasses and slid them into the pocket of his dark grey slacks, getting out to greet the doctor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long were you standing there for?” Will asked, eyes focused and cheeks slightly tinted cherry red from embarrassment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Long enough to infer that the singer of that song has greasy hair that covers his eyes.” Hannibal replied with snark. Will chuckled. “I must say, you do have quite the grip on rhythm though, Will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh, don’t mention it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really, you do.” Hannibal smiled, and Will returned the grin shyly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will fumbled to put his keys in his pockets and smooth out his curls. He continued ascending the steps up to the front door, which Hannibal held open for him, earning an appreciative nod from the smaller man. The luxuriously decorated record Hannibal had chosen was still spinning underneath the needle, nearing its end as Will stripped his jacket off and folded it, tucking it under his arm. Hannibal took in his aroma, a cheap brand of soap and a tang of salt and whiskey, as well as that godawful aftershave. It was distinctly Will’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blue eyed man wrinkled his nose a little bit when he knew Hannibal was facing away from him as the opera singer hit a painfully high note. </span>
  <span>Hannibal’s music taste was very, well..</span>
  <em>
    <span> Hannibal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Will hadn’t expected anything less than a theatrical and lavish opera, he knew Hannibal most certainly wasn’t the type to enjoy something more modern. It fit the doctor’s taste perfectly, all things traditional and expensive appealed to him. He didn’t understand opera at all, not even in the slightest. It was all melodrama and unintelligible shrieking to him. There was no melody to follow and no distinct beat to tap your toes to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Such was the nature of subjective taste, he supposed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they entered Hannibal’s study, the singer let out her last sensational cries and the record ceased to spin, falling still as the last song came to a close. The room was dimly lit due to the lack of light outside, only graced by the glow of a few wall mounted lamps. Tiny beams of starlight no thicker than a needle filtered in from the windows, which had grey shutters half hung above them. Bookshelves with more options than your average library loomed around them and the shadow of the sliding ladder hung heavy over the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will briefly filled Hannibal in on the details of the latest killing, the victim of which was a trombonist from the Baltimore Orchestra. He was killed by blunt force trauma to the head, taken out onto the stage and put on display, then had a cello neck forcefully shoved through his throat. The man’s vocal chords were chemically treated with a solution just like catgut strings so they could be played with a bow. It was quite a grisly case, though nothing either of them couldn’t stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Among the first musical instruments were flutes,” Hannibal began as he set a book gently down on his mahogany sketching desk. “Carved from human bone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This murder was a performance.” Will said as he approached the desktop to briefly flick his eyes at the book that Hannibal had placed. As they drew closer he felt a shudder creep up every knob of his spine at their proximity. He turned away for a moment, rotating on his heels, then looked back at Hannibal, who was eyeing him intensely. Will momentarily took notice of Hannibal’s dark and rich voice and how his accent presented itself when he said certain words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kinda liked it. There was something endearing about the snooty, foreign man before him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Every life is a piece of music. Like music, we are finite events. Unique arrangements.” Hannibal spoke as Will paced around him, staring down at his shoes. He skimmed his fingers over the top of an orangy, firm chair. “Sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harmonious. That word just rolled off the doctor’s tongue like golden honey. Will mentally chided himself for allowing himself to compare something as simple as Hannibal talking to a cheesy phrase like that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden honey?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fucking really, William Graham?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes not worth hearing again.” Will allowed himself tiny glances up at the other man every few seconds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s a poet and a psychopath.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And a craftsman. He was shrinking and tanning the vocal cords.” Will briefly gestured with the same hand that had stroked the chair, then slipped it into his pocket as he took a few more paces forwards, and Hannibal moved closer to follow him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like turning iron wire into musical steel string.” Hannibal and Will were now standing on opposite ends of the reddish brown desk with a pale brown rug marked with black floral patterns, and the doctor licked his lips briefly while his face was contoured by the early night shadows and his short eyelashes became curtains of black above deep brown eyes. “Was there olive oil?” Hannibal asked and turned to face Will, who was again avoiding meeting his gaze and seemingly admiring a cabinet pushed against the red wall lined with delicate paintings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” He met Hannibal’s eyes for a moment and tilted his head slightly, blinking as he registered what the man had just said. The shadows marked up his face as well, following his curved nose, the ridges where his eyebrows lay and gathering in pools of black at the lines of his scruffy jaw. He was utterly distracted and it was beginning to interfere with his speech. “Yes.” He answered hesitantly, his attention fixed on the other man entirely. Will was a sailor and Hannibal was luring him in like a siren, but this siren sang no song. He was silent, but his eyes whispered a million songs at once. Called out into the night and took hold of him, tied him up in rope made of snakes and carried him to the foot of the singer. Will felt as if he was a domestic puppy gazing up at a dire wolf, absolutely dwarfed by the valiance of the greater creature.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever sound he was trying to produce, it was an authentic one.” Hannibal’s hands were in his pockets and his wristwatch glinted in the low, yellow light. Will scoffed a little, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes with a tiny grin. A stray curl on his forehead flopped as he leaned his jaw down, and it caused a tiny spark of warmth to pool in Hannibal’s stomach, though he remained as still and stoic as always. “Olive oil hasn’t been used in the production of catgut for over a century. It was said to increase the life of the strings and create a sweeter, more melodic sound.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will watched Hannibal’s every move with a tilted head in curiosity. His motions were smooth and each had a distinct intention. He almost never talked with his hands, relying only on quirks of his facial features and subtle lowerings of his eyelids. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hear what he was playing behind my eyes whenever I close them.” Will replied hesitantly as he blinked rapidly at the thought of the horrid orchestra that lurked behind his eyes and rang in his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you see behind closed eyes?” Hannibal questioned inquisitively, his gaze intense as he spoke. Will opened his mouth to speak, but froze and his lips fell shut while the image of Hobbs alone in the theatre clapping for his macabre performance was summoned to his mind. It stole the words and left him hanging. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said the killer was performing, who was he performing for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Will’s reply was fast this time. He gazed back down at the carpet. “A patron of the arts, a fellow musician, or another killer.” He raised his hand in suggestion from where it rested in his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a serenade.” Hannibal inferred.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But this isn’t how he kills.” Will retorted. “Normally he doesn’t kill for an audience.” He stepped closer to Hannibal, watching how the light shone off strands of greyed out hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You believe he risked getting caught for a serenade?” Hannibal replied. Will could feel the heat of his breath as he drifted closer and closer. His body language changed, as he strangely lifted his hand out of his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe he wants to show someone how well he plays.” The silver haired doctor had picked up on Will’s intention and he too migrated closer. Hannibal placed a confident hand on Will’s shoulder and gazed at him, tilting his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You truly are brilliant, Will.” His voice was low and husky, and he leaned closer, and Will completely froze. His nerves snapped shut like bear traps and the two studied each other’s faces in fascination. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, he removed his hand and stepped away, as their session was soon going to conclude. Where his hand had been left a searing hot mark, and though it was gone, Will could still feel the gentle press of calloused fingertips against his vest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He only wished it would trail a little further down his chest. And that Hannibal had leaned just a little closer. Rested his forehead against his and closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Before you go, Will, I’d like to give you something.” He piped up, looking back over at Will who was still a little shaken from how quickly the touch had tightened his pants. Hannibal pulled out a record from his collection, one with a red circle in the center and a label in a language Will didn’t dare to try and recognize. The movement of Hannibal’s deft fingers sent his imagination to places it most definitely should not be during a therapy appointment. “I think you may have a taste for it, give it a try.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will took it from his hand and shuddered when his hand brushed the doctor’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take it, but only if you take one of mine.” Will had a wicked grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a fair trade.” Hannibal returned the smirk. “I’ll walk you to your car, I look forward to what you have to show me.” The two made their way out of the room, Hannibal holding the door like a gentleman once again as they stepped out into the chilly night air. Will opened the car door and pulled out a jacket he had rested in the passenger seat, quickly slipping it over his shoulders before the cold could get close enough to bite. The warmth of Hannibal’s large hand was still tingling on his bicep. He reached into the glove compartment and rustled some CDs around, amusing pictures dancing around his head as he surveyed each one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hannibal would never listen to The Black Parade or American Idiot, and he wouldn’t touch anything more on the hardcore side. He wouldn’t enjoy Underoath or Silverstein, and the Sex Pistols were definitely off the table. AC/DC was too cliche, Queen’s rock opera might fit his taste but the lack of deeper meaning in the songs might irk him. Alt rock was too close to pop. Will was worrying far too much over a simple album recommendation for his therapist that he was completely smitten with, for god’s sake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Will remembered that Hannibal had watched him lip sync only a little more than an hour ago, and he pulled out We The Kings’ self titled debut, which was an album that had followed him around from his twenties up until now just like a duckling. One of the songs on it was his choice for the car ride to Hannibal’s that night and it seemed to be a fitting selection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try this one.” Will placed it in Hannibal’s hand, who nodded. “Well, I’ll be seeing you next week.” He continued awkwardly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It could be sooner, if you wish.” The doctor offered. And his tone was not at all professional anymore, but genuinely hopeful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that. I’ll be waiting for your lecture on my taste, Doctor Lecter.” Will quipped, his rare grin reappearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As do I.” Hannibal extended that magic hand of his once again and cupped Will’s face. Will leaned into his touch, and felt as if he could lose himself in a moment as small as this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the signature Baltimore cold nipped them both in a sharp reminder that they were still outside. The two quickly returned to the warmth of their respective vehicles and houses after a brief ‘see you later.’ Hannibal watched Will drive away from his window with fond eyes before ascending the stairs to his upper floor, and Will’s thoughts were filled with nothing but his inappropriately attractive psychiatrist the whole car ride home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One hand was off the wheel and he tapped it on his thigh as he cruised through the empty roads only lit by the tendrils of light hanging down from street lamps. Will wanted nothing more than to curl up into his sheets and close his eyes, hopefully into a dreamless sleep. Realistically he knew it wouldn’t happen, but at the very least there was an off chance his dreams would be about Hannibal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he pulled up to his humble cabin in Wolf Trap and heard the yipping of his beloved dogs, a contented sigh fell from his lips. Will picked up the record Hannibal had given him and tucked it under his arm, then stepped out and trudged up the steps, rubbing his eyes as he unlocked the door and was quite literally dogpiled by his seven canine companions. They whimpered and nudged him with curious wet noses and licked him with soft pink tongues. Will was covered in a wriggling blanket of pelts of every color. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was very careful to keep the record out of reach from their grabby claws that he hadn’t gotten around to trimming in far too long. Hannibal cared dearly about his records and Will didn’t want to be the person who ruined one of them. And little Buster was looking at it eagerly as if it would become his brand new chew toy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright.” He giggled as Winston stepped up onto his chest and leaned down to lick his nose. It tickled like mad and it took all of his restraint not to writhe around like a child in laughter. He gently pushed him off and sat up as the dogs rushed out into his snow covered yard to do their business, giving him time to shed his vest and take a breather.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will left his keys in a ceramic bowl on the counter and set the record down next to it, out of the reach of Buster’s scrabbly paws. He slowly moved up the stairs, fighting the exhaustion that threatened to leave him asleep drenched in his own sweat in the middle of the staircase. He approached the bathroom and twisted the shower knob, which let out a steady stream of scalding hot water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just the way he liked it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will grasped the bottom of his pale green shirt and lifted it over his toned shoulders, kicking off his socks in the same direction. He unbuckled his belt and rolled down his slacks, which joined the pile of discarded clothing. A finger hooked into the waistband of his black briefs and Will was rid of them right before he stepped into the oddly welcoming allure of the burning water. He shut his eyes as it rained down on him, and the warmth that enveloped him much like he wished Hannibal would.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The doctor’s arms were sculpted and wide, and Will could imagine them snaked around his waist, holding him protectively. Caring for him and cuddling him at ungodly hours of night, his back pressed against Hannibal’s broad, fuzzy chest. Very rarely did Hannibal wear his shirts without the buttons done all the way up, but on one odd day Will had caught a glimpse of his elusive chest hair. He felt like an enamoured teenager again, blushy and skittish and in denial of his feelings. And even more embarrassingly, beneath layers of fabric, when Hannibal had placed his hand on Will’s shoulder his dick had twitched. And now, as he stood in the shower alone, thinking it over, it happened again when a particularly lewd image of Hannibal kissing his throat popped into his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the second time in one day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will quickly squirted shampoo into his palm and dragged his fingers through his curly hair, not wanting to indulge himself in his embarrassing fantasy any longer. He scrubbed himself with a dull yellow bar of soap and stood underneath the torrid spray for only a few moments longer, then shut it off and grabbed a towel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dressed himself in a white shirt and a pair of loose, baby blue boxers that were comfortable enough to sleep in. The dogs were scratching at the door downstairs and he quickly rushed down to let them in. They were cold and rubbed up against his legs, covering his damp legs once again in dog hair. It was a seemingly inescapable facet of his life, a curse that came with the blessing of having so many dogs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the lock on the door clicked shut, his eyes flicked to the record laying on the countertop and it called to him like a flower reaching for a honeybee. He knew he had a dusty old record player in a decrepit box somewhere around here, it was just a matter of finding it. There was work to be done tomorrow and given the fact that Hannibal had lent the record to him he had no way of guessing how long it was. It could’ve been ten fucking hours of meat chopping sound effects, nothing but modern music was off the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will lost himself in thought about all the different possible uncanny things Hannibal could listen to before he snapped out of it and caved in, heading to his closet that had never been fully unpacked since he moved to Wolf Trap. He pushed several boxes out of the way, most still taped shut with duct tape or packing tape until he found what he was looking for. It was a larger box and there were smudged sharpie marks on the outside that he could just barely make out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands clutched the sides of it and he pulled it out as carefully as he could, the dogs rushing to his side to see what he had just found. Will brushed past them and set it down on the table. He took a breath and blew the dust off the top, grabbing the edge of the line of tape that held it closed and peeling it off. The record player inside was far more modern looking than Hannibal’s, but he cared very little what it looked like as long as he could play the record that the doctor had given him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will lifted the glass lid and set the record down, lowering the needle and anticipating the melody that was soon to follow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The beginning of the song subverted his initial expectations, as there was no shrill screech, but instead the hum of a quiet violin. It moved slowly and a piano faded in alongside the existing trills, a note here and there of varying pitch. Simplistic and relaxed in tempo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So far so good. Will could feel himself almost getting into it, enjoying the quiet tune and the somber pictures it painted in his head. It presented him with dark meadows and the quiet lull of glittering ocean waves. Maybe their tastes weren’t so different after all. It was hard to picture Hannibal enjoying his stuff, but perhaps they could jam to alt rock together. He drummed his fingers on the countertop with a satisfied hum, and then the vocals came in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh god, the vocals.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They burst through the wall of calm Will had carefully constructed around himself, sending shatters of it all over the room. Every possible cliche about opera that he could imagine was orchestrated in those few seconds of high pitched singing. The slow chants completely destroyed the atmosphere that the instrumental had built before it. In fact, the vocals danced on the grave of the relaxed imagination that came with the piano. The curly haired man rolled his eyes and sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You had me in the first half, Hannibal.” He said to no one. Will did not turn off the record player, allowing it to run in the background while he locked up the house and drew the shutters closed. He figured he might as well give the other songs a chance, but as he descended down the list, they all similarly disappointed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> After half an hour of lounging on the couch with a bottle of golden whiskey, his eyelids had grown far too heavy to remain awake any longer. The dogs followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom, where they settled down in their beds and curled up, silky tails tickling their whiskers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will wished he was able to get to sleep that fast, as Zoe’s eyes had already fallen closed. Her underbite that normally clenched against her upper lip was relaxed, and a rare snore occasionally fell from her lips. He lifted the covers and slipped his legs beneath them, dragging them up to his white clad shoulders. Will settled down with a huff as the last notes of the record rang out and his eyelids fell shut. He lay awake for an hour or two like usual, rolling back and forth until he could find a spot that both kept him warm under the thin quilt and was comfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His sleep was relatively dreamless, save for a few tiny flashes recalling events from the day, all of which were related to his earlier visit to Hannibal’s house. He would fixate on the doctor’s lips for a moment before his mind tugged him back into the silent blackness of sleep, and a few hours later a vision of the doctor interlacing his fingers with Will’s and his hand drifting up his thigh woke him with a start.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will rubbed the slick of sweat off of his forehead and glanced at the clock, which read seven thirty AM. At least it wasn’t too early. Normally his dreams could awaken him at any time, and it was always less than an hour after he finally succumbed to sleep. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and was greeted by Winston, who nudged him with a wet nose and whimpered in excitement. Early morning light engulfed the blue room as birds warbled outside. Will gave Winston a few gentle strokes behind his ears and reached for his phone, which lay charging next to a caramel colored lamp on the nightstand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was one unread message, which was from Hannibal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A patient cancelled their appointment, so now my afternoon is free. Would you like to indulge me in some conversation and perhaps a glass of wine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still spoke formally, even through text. It brought a small smile to Will’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure. You still gonna lecture me on my taste?” Will jested in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely. See you at one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will set his phone down with a lethargic yawn and walked over to his drawer to select his clothes for the day. He fumbled around for a moment before he chose a deep grey sweater that he knew would match well with one of his overcoats. A little voice in his head was pushing him to try and impress Hannibal by dressing up for him. It was utterly childish and embarrassing but he was too far gone down the road of his little infatuation not to. Will combed his hair and slicked one of his stray curls to the side of his forehead, taking one last glance in the mirror before he walked downstairs to let the whining dogs out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hours went by painfully slowly as Will busied himself with whatever could hold his attention for more than a few minutes, but when the clock struck eleven Will almost burst with anticipation as he prepared to leave. He gave the dogs a goodbye treat and scruffed their fur gently, giving them reassuring smiles as he slipped out the door, locking it up with a click as he strutted up to his car. For the first time in years he felt almost giddy about going to see someone. This wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, it was one he wanted to capture and study like an endangered beast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He set Hannibal’s record down on the car seat next to him and the engine sparked to life with a rumbling purr.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will opted to listen to Handwritten by The Gaslight Anthem as his background music for the last part of the ride. Familiar drab surroundings passed by in a blur and he tapped his boot clad foot that wasn’t on the pedal to the beat. He knew Hannibal was going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely grill him</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his recommendation, but he planned on doing exactly the same. The attractive twitch of irritation in the doctor’s lip encouraged Will to rile him up and prod him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’d try to bug him more often.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled up as the sun was at its peak in the sky, painting the Lecter house in a pleasant hue of yellow. The windows reflected the cornflower colored sky that was dotted with stringy white clouds. Hannibal noticed Will and was at the door shortly after, opening it with not quite a smile, but a welcoming expression and a playful flicker of his eyes over Will’s form.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Will.” He greeted the smaller man. “Have you put product in your hair?” His nostrils flared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I knew you’d smell it.” Will chuckled, avoiding eye contact as the doctor admired his hair. Hannibal truly was strange and charming in his own way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I quite like it. Now, please come in, I’ve prepared us a small lunch and I’d love to hear what you thought of the record.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two passed through the living room and walked into Hannibal’s kitchen where some meal Will knew he couldn’t pronounce was laid out on the table. He recognized a thin slab of finely spiced meat laid out on a bed of leaves surrounded by various vegetables drizzled in some sort of dressing. Both took their plates and settled down at the table, sitting across from one another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will started by picking off little bits of meat, which tasted absolutely wondrous as the scathing review of the opera hung just barely off the edge of his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, tell me, Will, what did you think?” The doctor asked, meeting Will’s eyes from across the expanse of mahogany wood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s no easy way to say this, but, uh-” Will hesitated, picking off another chunk of exquisite food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your taste is awful!” Both of them called out in sync. There was a mix of confusion and humor in the air as they both fell silent for a moment. Hannibal raised a brow and Will almost choked on his food as he burst into laughter. The sweet breaths in between his laughs made Hannibal’s skin tingle, and soon, he too was giggling like a schoolboy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get how you can understand what they’re saying! It was all good until the vocals.” Will snickered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your band used Romeo and Juliet as a tasteless metaphor!” Hannibal seemed almost genuinely frustrated that someone could defile such a classic story.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s supposed to be cheesy and overzealous, that’s part of the appeal.” Will interjected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The same could be said about the opera.” The silvery haired man suggested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not charming like rock ‘n roll, though. Listening to middle aged women screech isn’t my thing.” Will replied with snark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And listening to twenty one year old men talk about throwing rocks through windows isn’t mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And they resumed eating, occasionally throwing glances at one another with tiny smiles concealed by the glasses they sipped out of. Their eyes frequently met in flirtation as they drank. Both men enjoyed bugging the other, and ideas of how to do so were blooming in their heads. The rest of lunch returned to casual conversation about the state of things at the FBI and progress on the cello case, but their lingering mock-argument about music kept them both only inches away from a chuckle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When it finally came time for Will to leave due to one of Hannibal’s early evening appointments, he did so with a longing in his heart for more time with the doctor. It seemed their schedules never properly coincided to allow a whole day of relaxation. Just another persistent ‘if only’ to linger in the back of Will’s mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I forgot to mention, Jack wants me out tomorrow, would you mind feeding the dogs? Sorry about that, I know it’s a long drive and-” Hannibal cut will off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never apologize for asking a favor. I will gladly feed them tomorrow.” The grey haired man smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Hannibal.” Will praised. He was awkwardly resting his hand on the door, and Hannibal placed his hand on top of it, lingering for a moment before he pulled away. “I’ll see you soon.” Will’s cheeks were flushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you soon, Will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dubious grin spread across Hannibal’s face as an idea bloomed in his brain. He’d have a chance to be alone at Will’s house the next day, and he knew the younger man had a record player. Hannibal pulled out one of his favorite records, one he knew Will would find absolutely atrocious and set it down on the table so he’d remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just hoped Will’s record player had a loop button.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>next chapter will be up soon, as always, thank you so much for reading!<br/>any kind of feedback is appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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